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Is Having a Roommate the New “South Beach Diet”?

I’m blogging from Miami, where I’ve been all weekend for work. And despite the views from the hotel (see below—that’s a pic from our balcony! And I hear it’s snowing back in NY!), it has been work.

My fellow editor (and friend) Lauren Bradshaw and I are down here interviewing guys on the street for our “Glamour Asks, Men Answer” column. That means going up to guys on the beach and asking them if we can chat with them. Yesterday, that meant having the guts to go up to a group of 12 shirtless Argentines playing volleyball. And sometimes it means getting rejected by guys who don’t want to stop to talk. I can’t blame ‘em when they’d rather not, but it’s still a blow to the ego every time; I feel like I’m in Times Square trying to get tourists to take my flier for a comedy show. (Note to self: Will be nicer to those Times Square hagglers from now on; it’s not fun being on the other side, getting snubbed!)

The truth is, because it’s my job to approach these guys, I’ve had no problem doing it. But in my real life, I know I wouldn’t have the confidence. I’d feel insecure, and yes, mostly about my body. Lauren, who saw me invite myself over to a guy’s table as he was sitting alone having lunch yesterday said the same: “It’s funny how you have no problem approaching guys down here; I wish you’d be that confident when you aren’t working.”

I wish I were, too. But I’ve been feeling pretty jiggly all week, and being in South Beach, where the women all have Barbie-Doll figures (even when I know some of them are actually plastically enhanced) isn’t helping.

What is helping: having a roommate. I’m sharing a room with Lauren (hey, we’re in a recession!), and although I’ve wanted to rip into the mini-bar and kill a whole Lindt chocolate bar at midnight, I haven’t. Eating (or rather, overeating) has always been something I’ve done in isolation—especially nighttime bingeing. I hate to admit it, but I know it’s one of the reasons I like living alone; despite what kind of day I’ve had, I know that I always have the comfort of coming home to my most loyal friend—food. I’ve had that urge to nighttime-binge here, but have been too ashamed to gorge in front of Lauren, in front of anyone. Last night, Lauren and I came back to our hotel room separately, and on my way back, I stopped at a Falafel place and got the biggest piece of a dessert dripping with honey and nuts. It was an act of rebellion (although, yes, mostly against myself) and I felt satisfied for the few minutes it took to shovel it in my mouth. And then immediately I was dripping with another thing: guilt. Why can’t I still resist that urge to self-medicate with food? Will that impulse ever go away?

I did get something right here when I decided to stock the mini-bar with things I can eat—yogurt, string cheese and fruit I bought at Walgreens. It was a good idea—especially when I wake up feeling hungry and don’t want to drop $30 on a room-service breakfast or a cheap but 500-calorie muffin from a coffee shop. And I did wake up early to go for a run yesterday—it was awesome not to have to worry about wearing 18 layers and a pair of earmuffs to go for a jog.

What do you guys think about the whole roommate thing? I wonder if having one would help, because I’d be less likely to binge at night? Or would food become like any other drug: somehow, somewhere, I’d still find a way to get my fix? I tend to think it’s the latter, unfortunately. Getting a roommate would be the easy, Band-Aid-solution, but it wouldn’t heal the problem. Do you guys have roommates? Do you still find a way to binge when you want to?